


Paradise Lost

by EspadaIV



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Daydreaming, Drunk Sex, F/M, Interracial Sex, Lemon, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, PWP, Porn, Public Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, drunk people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EspadaIV/pseuds/EspadaIV
Summary: Hermione comes home to the shock of her life which leads her to leave. She finds herself lost in a seedy part of Diagon Alley where she meets Kingsley Shacklebolt, drunk off his face. She offers to escort him home and finds her thoughts drifting. Will Kingsley make it home?





	Paradise Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. IN SHORT, I don't own, don't sue.
> 
> I finally recovered my HP fics from my HDD that died years ago. This was a fic I wrote and put on GreatestJournal before they up and deleted shit *grumbles*. I think it was on my LJ before I deleted it. The date on this one is... fuck... 2005... Figured I'd put it here.

All she remembered was slamming the door and storming away from her flat.

 

Hermione Granger halted in her steps and was surprised to find herself on a seedy-looking street surrounded by dark, dingy and loud taverns. The cobblestone road ant the nearby alley was dirty and smelled of vomit, urine and other things she chose not to identify. The normally astute and aware young woman had been so blinded by tears and fury that she unknowingly brought herself to this less-than-reputable part of Diagon Alley. She even wondered if this was Knockturn Alley.

 

Disgust and distress once more flared anew as Hermione remembered why she had been so upset. She had arrived home after another late night at work to find Ron Weasley shagging Pansy Parkinson quite vigorously in the bed that she, Hermione, had bought just a few months ago. She didn’t know what had been more annoying: Ron trying to explain himself or Pansy smirking at her and still lounging naked on the bed.

 

That was when Hermione had rushed out of the flat and fled trying to put distance between her and the man she loved and was supposed to marry. Now here she was outside of a disreputable looking pub, not yet able to step foot through the door.

 

Several patrons came stumbling out the door singing a bawdy and loudly off-key song about women and their physical attributes. The ragged men paused for a moment and stared at Hermione before laughing and lurching past her. Ordinarily, Hermione would have scowled at the revelers or even cast a sobering charm on them. However, there was nothing ordinary about finding your fiancée in bed with someone she had loathed for years. As she sought privacy and refuge in a nearby alley, she wondered briefly how Pansy had gotten her claws on Ron. Hermione shook her head vigorously as she decided she had no interest in any sordid details. She just wanted to forget the whole evening.

 

But how could she forget such a thing? She recalled seeing Ron’s sheet-covered arse shaking and moving like a jack-hammer while Pansy had her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, throwing her head back and whimpering loudly in pleasure. What made it more perplexing for Hermione was that she never found Ron to be very good in bed. He was rough, quick and a bit sloppy leaving her frustrated and retreating to the loo while he slumbered in his own post-coital bliss. Pansy, apparently, had no such complaint with Ron.

 

Hermione thought back to the time in her sixth year when she had sent the canaries flying at Ron after she caught him snogging Lavender Brown. Now that seemed to be such a childish impulse to act upon, but she had wanted to do again earlier tonight. She wanted to have her revenge on Ronald Weasley for serving her up as something for Pansy to laugh at. As Hermione’s anger grew she stood in the dark alley, oblivious to the vile smell of stale urine and the sounds of men using the side of the pub as a toilet.

 

A drunken man bumped into Hermione just then effectively interrupting her reverie. Before she could say anything, she watched in horror as he tugged the zipper of his trousers down and began relieving himself only a few steps away from her. She realised then that there were four other men further in the alley also urinating and that they didn’t seem the least bit bothered or self-conscious about uncovering their groins and displaying their male organs in front of her.

 

Still frozen where she stood staring at the men, Hermione started when another man bumped into her. This time the man stopped and grabbed her arm, murmuring slurred filth in her ear, his rank breath almost causing her to throw up. She shook his arm off of her and shoved him away before fleeing the alley in a panicked run.

 

In her haste to escape from the man, Hermione collided with someone just as she ran out of the alley. About to scream in shock and terror, she stared up at the tall dark obstacle and realised it was a man she knew. “Kingsley Shacklebolt?” she exclaimed in surprise. She knew this man to be an Auror as well as a member of the Order. He had also trained Hermione in her last year at the Auror Academy.

 

The impressive black man peered down at her, his dark, intense eyes widening in recognition. “Hermione?” he queried. “It’s nice to see you are getting out, but—“ He peered around them. “You’re in the wrong part of Diagon Alley for this time of night.”

 

Shocked to hear his words slur slightly, Hermione stepped back from the man and studied him carefully. “Something happened at home and I—“ She paused, watching the man sway a bit. “Are you drunk, Mr. Shacklebolt?” she inquired although she already knew the answer. She noticed that he had a certain flat alcohol smell about him and that his eyes were bloodshot.

 

“Just something to take the chill off the day,” Shacklebolt replied ruefully before grinning at her.

 

Hermione wondered briefly what he was smiling about but decided against reacting to her unease. When Shacklebolt swayed dangerously in front of her, Hermione moved quickly to support him. “Do you need help getting home?” she offered.

 

Shacklebolt seemed to consider her offer before finally nodding, probably realising that he was likely to splinch himself if he attempted to Apparate and that walking home alone would be difficult in his condition. He nodded.

 

Hermione trembled as he slid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to his side to steady himself. They passed the dark shops of Diagon Alley which had all closed for the night hours ago and soon made their way through the Leaky Cauldron to the Muggle world outside.

 

* * *

 

As they walked for several blocks in silence, Hermione was fully conscious of Shacklebolt’s weight leaning slightly on her and his strong arm around her shoulder. Gazing surreptitiously at the tall man beside her, she began to idly wonder what it would be like to be ravished and shagged by him. Her musings became thoughts which morphed into a fantasy that included Kingsley Shacklebolt.

 

In Hermione’s mind, Kingsley’s hand would drift from her shoulders down to her waist, and he’d guide her into a narrow alley away from the street. His hands would move further down to the gentle rise of her bottom with long fingers that would knead her skin through her smart looking dress. The touch would be salacious, thrillingly erotic and a whole different sexual spectrum than what she was used to.

 

Walking through the alley they would stop after a turn since they would now be out of sight from the wet street. Kingsley would turn Hermione so that she was facing him. He’d bend slightly bringing him closer to her level while she stood on the balls of her feet to close the remaining distance. They would kiss then, his dark lips capturing her salmon-coloured ones, his tongue pushing through and invading her mouth. Hermione would then wonder how his tongue would feel on other parts of her body.

 

Still in her daze and walking beside the drunk Auror, Hermione wondered if she would just let him do all of this to her and if her former instructor would think that she was an easy conquest because of it. He must already think she was easy, running from the open-air urinal like she was. In her fantasy, Kingsley would treat her as if she was there in that alley for one thing only: to be fucked out of her mind.

 

Hermione blushed at her wanton thoughts and was glad that the streetlights were few and far between. The flush was also because her thoughts were turning her on and this time it wasn’t Ronald who was touching her in her fantasy. Her philandering boyfriend was living his own fantasies fucking Pansy Parkinson in Hermione’s bed.

 

Shrinking away from such unpleasant reminders of her evening, Hermione let her mind wander back to her fantasy encounter with Kingsley. She would feel his hands slide lower from her hips until his impatient fingers would tug the dress over up her thighs and the tops of her stockings. Hermione didn’t know why she wore stockings since Ron never took an interest in her clothing. However, she felt sure that Kingsley would. He’d stroke the area between the silk of the stockings and her knickers with his hot and slightly damp hand causing a chill to chase up her spine.

 

Now keenly aware of Shacklebolt’s slightly laboured breathing as she continued guiding him home, Hermione found that just the feel of his arm around her shoulders and the weight of him on her as he tried not to stumble was enough to maintain the heat of her fantasy.

 

She would cry out, as his hand would slip under the material of her panties and with deadly sure movements, large strong fingers would find that area between her thighs. Kingsley would then part the lips of her sex while breathing heavily against her ear and neck which would make her shiver more. He was a big man, stronger and larger than anyone who had embraced her before. She could feel herself squirming in his grip, unaccustomed to his strength and size as the tips of his fingers would flick against the stem of her clit.

 

Hermione, of course, had heard rumours that black men were the best lovers to have. Ron’s sister, Ginny, dated Dean Thomas for a time and had shared some lusty tales with her. Hermione had also heard that Blaise Zabini could do wonderful things to both sexes. Kingsley would be no different.

 

She was certain Kingsley would know how to treat a lady, touching her in all the right spots. Hermione could feel the hot waves of pleasure run through her body like flashes of electricity as he fingered her clit. Then his free hand was on her wrist, pushing her fingers down to the front of his trousers. It would be the only time that he spoke. “Take it out, Hermione,” he murmured in his deep rich voice that was made coarse by his desire. “Go on and take it out.”

 

As Hermione fumbled with the zipper unknowingly massaging the hardening swell beneath her fingers, the hold on her wrist tightened momentarily before relaxing. Once his fly was open, she reached in and wrapped her fingers around a very thick cock, realising that Kingsley wore no underwear beneath his trousers. Without thought, she began to stroke the warm ebony skin, marveling at the length and width and wondering what woman could want more than this. In comparison, Kingsley’s cock made a laughing stock of Ron’s. Logically, she thought, no woman should be able to take anything that big inside her.

 

The tingling between Hermione’s thighs was very intense. Kingsley was close to giving her an orgasm and they hadn’t even fucked yet. For a few moments, his fingers neglected the stem of her clit as his hands found a new target in the wet heated softness of her center. Suddenly, he gripped the waistband of her panties and yanked them down her hips and thighs, the undergarment falling quickly down to her ankles. Hermione stepped out of them, leaving the expensive knickers on the rough ground of the alley, dank and filthy moisture seeping into them.

 

She realised that she was going to be shagged out here in the open air of a dark alley, just like an ordinary prostitute who didn’t bother taking men home to a bed if there even was a home. She, Hermione Granger, was going to be fucked by a black man and it would be the first time that a man other than Ron was going to have her. She found herself hoping that the ebony-skinned cock would fill and satisfy her like never before.

 

Kingsley spotted a large wooden packing crate standing up on its side a few steps away from them. He eased them over to it, his powerful hands gripping her waist as he made her face the box, pressing into the small of her back, making her lean forward. She felt the cold damp air on the back of her legs as he shoved her dress up so that it gathered in a bunch around her waist. The draft sent shivers down her bare backside which was exposed to both the man and the elements.

 

Both of Kingsley’s hands began working between her legs. The large fingers would be stretching her pussy and the small bud of her anus. Hermione bit her lip and drew in a shaky breath, momentarily rising above the heat of her fantasy. She decided that she would curl up in embarrassment if anyone found that she dreamed about things like this or if Ron or any of her friends and relatives ever knew that she not only wanted a black man to ravage her in a dark alley but that she’d let him and would even encourage him.

 

Once more retreating into the recesses of her imagination, Hermione imagined her bare pale legs spreading wider apart in response to Kingsley’s intimate touch. She shamelessly bent forward more so that his hands could have better access to the normally private parts of her body. When he seemed to think that he had stretched her enough he moved closer to spread her arse cheeks, looking his fill at the pale soft globes and the pink wetness of her center. He bent his knees, bringing the head of his cock so that it touched Hermione’s skin as she gave a soft moan of delight in anticipated pleasure.

 

Kingsley’s large thick cock pushed into her entrance from behind causing her to gasp at the sensation. Hermione’s flesh parted and then clung tightly around the invading member as it made its firm, slow and relentless progress into her. She whimpered in a way that Ron would never hear her respond nor would he ever bring her to this pitch of heated wanting. Kingsley’s massively strong hips drove his cock into her, eliciting loud and passionate moans from her. His body was moving in what was like a sensual arch, drilling and grounding his cock into her before withdrawing and thrusting again. Never in Hermione’s life had she known such pleasure.

 

The thrusting felt good to Hermione but at the same time it hurt and she wanted to feel more of the pain. Kingsley’s heavy body was bent over her, his front torso pressed firmly on her back. Hermione dared not to think of what condition her dress would be in since it was not likely to ever be restored again. Kingsley pressed harder against her so he could thrust his cock further into her. She felt wickedly obscene since Kingsley’s cock was the biggest she would ever touch.

 

Hermione’s eyes were closed, and her breath came in sharp, heavy panting gasps. She wondered if this was what women lived for and at the same time she realised what she had been missing. How could she ever expect to be satisfied by Ronald Weasley after this? Kingsley was giving Hermione an outlet to her animal-like desires which was something she had never experienced before. She knew if Kingsley asked her to, she’d leave Ron and everything else from her old life to live with the older man so that he could shag her like this as often as she wanted him to.

 

Their movements became so frenzied that Kingsley’s fingers dug into the soft skin of her hips leaving bruises and welts. He thrust one final time, burying himself into Hermione as he came in shuddering throbs. He withdrew his cock and thanked her, making himself presentable once again. Kingsley left her in the gloom while she tried to find the knickers she had been so quick to discard. When she plucked them up the wet ground she realised they would never recover from the dirt and filthy wetness. She discarded them once more, before smoothing her ruined dress down as best as she could and marching out from the alley.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was yanked out of her reverie, face flushed and breathing shallow, as she continued walking but was stopped short. It was as if someone had pulled a dog’s leash so that it choked the animal. Kingsley had stopped while Hermione kept going. She turned and peered at him. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

 

Kingsley pointed to the building that he was standing in front of. “This is my stop,” he told her. Hermione stared at him a bit dumbfounded. “I live here,” he explained.

 

She was flushed and flustered. Her face felt hot, and she could feel a throbbing wetness between her legs. “Do you need help inside?” she offered.

 

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Kingsley assured her. “Thank you. The walk over here has sobered me up a bit.” He produced a set of Muggle keys from his pocket, glancing at her and mistaking her fallen expression of disappointment for one of concern. “I’ll be fine really,” he said smiling.

 

Watching Kingsley Shacklebolt unlock the door and disappear into his house, Hermione sighed, her dream lost. Paradise had been in her hands, but it quickly left her. She had just been a friend helping another friend.

 


End file.
